


Memory Of You

by IFrozeYourCookie



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Fix-It, How Do I Tag, I Tried, I'm not even kidding, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, Medical Trauma, Memory Loss, Parent!lock, Please Don't Hate Me, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Rehabilitation, Sad with a Happy Ending, Sort Of, This hurts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 15:09:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15932957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IFrozeYourCookie/pseuds/IFrozeYourCookie
Summary: When John was injured during a case, Sherlock had thought everything would turn out okay, because the medical team handling John had said so. But when upon waking up, John hadn't remembered anything about their requited love nor the already-well-grown Rosie. This had caused Sherlock to receive all the blame for the past and present from the two Watsons, which he didn't take well.





	Memory Of You

“John, he’s getting away!” Sherlock screamed as he used his signature blue scarf to push down the knife wound on his left thigh. John, recognizing his queue, ran after the 6 foot tall culprit on the slippery rooftop. It wasn’t at all a good idea to have a chase on a rooftop after a rain but this culprit was a serial rapist AND killer so they had to push aside all worries to catch this monster. He was close, oh so very close, when the criminal decided to turn around and swung the knife in mid air, just a few inches in front of John, startling him. The guy must have seen the lack of defense and the guard being put down for a moment so he decided to run back where he came from, forgetting that Sherlock was in that exact direction. He sprinted past John and pushed him aside, hard. By the time he reached Sherlock, he was pinned down with a full body weight of a 6 foot, bloodied detective. While keeping the criminal lying helplessly, he searched frantically for a familiar silhouette of his beloved doctor, his newly-declared partner.

“Where’s John? Tell me! What did you do to him?!” he asked in between grunts of pain.

“You can say goodbye to your __darling__  doctor, Holmes,” the man under him said in such disgusting pride enveloping the words, while holding out a…ring. God forbid Sherlock to decapitate the man then and there, but he needed to be justified for everything else he had done to countless others. So he opted for shouting for the Yard’s assistance.

“LESTRADE! I’M UP ON THE ROOFTOP WITH THE CRIMINAL,” __and please hurry. I need to find John-__ he couldn’t finish the sentence because the worry he felt had already got stuck in his throat. When the criminal was cuffed and dragged by the Yarders, Sherlock took the ring-John’s ring-along with him while frantically deducing clues to John’s where about, and stopped at a struggle mark, at the very edge of the building. With eyes filled with panic and fear, he slowly looked over the edge of the building and never had he screamed on top of his lungs like that.

“JOHN!!!”

His hands literally started to tremble in fear as he secured the ring in his coat pocket before going down the emergency stairs nearby.

“Oh God, John no! Please be okay. SOMEONE BRING MEDICS HERE! PLEASE! Please…” the last word barely came out as he held back his tears while cradling John’s head on his lap, giving a proper position for blood flow. __A few minor cuts, nothing too serious as seen from outside but-he’s bleeding internally and most possibly had a concussion. Please, dear lord let him live. Let him… I need him so much…__

The sirens of the ambulance had awaken Sherlock from his reverie and they shook his shoulders when he didn’t hear about the medical crew needing to bring John up to the stretcher or else they won’t be able to bring him to the ambulance without causing more damage.

“Sir, are you a family member?”

“I-yes. I’m his… fiancee” he declared but he couldn’t be proud of the title. Not then when his John is in god-knows-how-bad condition. The medical crew asking him the familial connection question seemed partly shocked, perhaps because the __great__ Sherlock Holmes was engaged to someone so mediocre as the loyal Dr. John Watson. The shock receded quickly, and the man was in full doctor mode. Eerie how all medical staffs had that ability and reminded of how John had always took care of him professionally back then. He was finally granted access into the vehicle, and frantically went beside John, holding his hand tightly as if the pressure was the only thing that could keep him alive and to keep himself grounded. The heart monitor was steadily but slowly beeping, imitating John’s heartbeat. The respiratory rate was below normal, but not critical. Almost critical. Anywhere below normal is never good.

“John, please wake up,” he was now properly sobbing, but thankfully none of the medics with him said a word and busied themselves by looking after John’s condition.

“Will he be alright? Will John be okay?” he asked the nurse on his left, who was keeping a close eye on John’s vitals.

“We can’t say for sure, Mr. Holmes. But from the looks of it, he would recover soon, positively. Further details can only be known after the surgery and treatment,” Sherlock just nodded, not knowing what else he could do after receiving that news. Every second felt like it had extended into hours. His heart was beating so fast, it could had been enough to beat for the both of them, but that wasn’t a plausible option, no matter how much he wanted to do that.

 

He could hear someone calling his name repeatedly, but his body won’t budge and his gaze won’t move from John. He was so… scared if he walk away, John would be gone. They promised each other for a future together, no matter what happened. But if the ‘what happened’ was somewhere as painful as a death row, they can’t have a family together. Raise Rosie to be that brilliant and funny child that would resemble both of them. The ring on their finger won’t change into a marriage ring and- Eventually a calming touch on his shoulder had broken him from his long train of thoughts. John… wasn’t there. He was inside the ambulance, in too deep of thoughts, he had missed them taking John out of the van. His head snapped to the direction of the touch when he heard a child’s voice coming from the same direction.

“Mrs. Hudson! Rosie!” they immediately hugged Sherlock when they saw the red-rimmed eyes illuminated only by the light of the ambulance and no longer the light of his thrilling persona.

“Sherlock, dear. I came as soon as I can after that lovely detective Lestrade contacted me. He thought someone should be there for you in case anything happened,”

“He-he fell when he was chasing the criminal after I was… wounded. My leg had already treated but I’m afraid for John. I don’t know how bad, even the doctors couldn’t tell on the spot,” the little child in his hands hugged tighter upon listening to this revelation.

“Will daddy be okay?”

“I… I’m not sure,” he said as he caressed Rosie’s hair, shushing her sobs softly.

“The doctor said that he’ll be alright. If he wakes up seeing us, he’d be fine,” he tried keeping his voice calm for Rosie’s sake. __He’ll be fine. He’s John Watson. MY John Watson. He’s strong.__

__

__~~~__

__

__

Sherlock was sitting on the hard plastic waiting chair outside the hospital rooms with Rosie sleeping on his lap, while Mrs. Hudson was calming him down and prepared to take shifts for Rosie. He was frantic. Absolutely frantic. Mrs. Hudson would squeeze his hand every few minutes to keep him from hyperventilating or getting panic attacks. That had helped a lot when the doctor finally approached them and asked for him.

“Mr. Holmes, is it?” Sherlock just nodded quickly, anticipating his coming words. The doctor looked over at Mrs. Hudson and little Rosie and nodded, as a courtesy of acknowledgement, before looking back at Sherlock, who was now standing up, visibly fatigue. The doctor smiled at him and Sherlock relaxed greatly, knowing that there wasn’t any dire situation.

“Dr. John Watson had undergone a successful surgery, Mr. Holmes. No complications during the entire operation but a close eye will be kept for a short period of time to ensure no unwanted after effects to occur on the said patient. He should be awake soon, so you may enter his room and stay for as long as you like, considering that you are indeed his fiancee. Congratulations, by the way. The medical report is on the desk inside the room for your purpose of reading, as per request,” the doctor nodded at him and proceeded to lead the way to John’s ward. Upon reaching, the doctor held the door open for all three of them to enter, but Sherlock just stood still, confused of whether he wanted to see John’s condition or just be there for John. Rosie was the one to drag him in because she wanted to see her father so badly, just to make sure he’s alive and breathing. She ran towards the bed and released a breath of relief when she held the hand of his father, which was evidently warm-sign of life.

 

Sherlock dragged a chair and placed it beside the bed for him to sit as close as he can with John, to make sure he’s there when John wakes up. Mrs. Hudson offered to distract Rosie for a bit and give Sherlock time to spend with John, although unconscious. He took John’s hand that was connected with the respiratory clip and intertwine their hands together.

“John. Could you just… wake up for me? I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you, now look at where we at now. Usually it’s me on the hospital bed. Seeing you on this godforsaken bed is… wrong. So very wrong. I need you, John so please wake up for me,” the knuckles of John’s hand was brought to Sherlock’s mouth for a feather-light kiss before putting on the fallen ring he had retrieved back on John’s finger. As if a promise that he’d be there when he wakes up.

 

 

 ~~~

 

“Will daddy wake up soon?” little Watson asked Sherlock who was lying his head beside John’s inanimate hand.

“Soon. I estimated he should wake up sometime in this hour. The doctor didn’t use too much anaesthetic on him, so it should wear out now,” Rosie was obviously not pleased with the answer, if her nose crinkle and forehead was anything to go by.

“Will he be okay?” with a sigh, Sherlock placed one hand on top of Rosie’s head and softly pat her head.

“I can’t tell you for sure. But if he wakes up and he sees us, I’m sure it will make him feel better, okay?” At first Rosie was just pouting at him because obviously it didn’t calm her down as much as she hoped but after a few moments she suddenly tensed upon looking over Sherlock’s lain head. She was comically frozen, and that made Sherlock bewildered.

“Rosie, wha-” abruptly, he stopped when he felt a weight on his head, which can only be…

“John?” he took the hand on his head in his, before pressing the button on a remote beside the bed. __John’s awake. Thank God, he is here. Alive and well and-__

“Sherl- what happened?” Rosie was giddy and happy, she was practically jumping around and calling out ‘daddy’ out of excitement, but every bit of joy and thrill simply fade away along with the last words of John’s next question.

“Why are you calling me ‘daddy’? Sherlock, where’s Mary?”

 

Rosie was static, and so was Sherlock. They were looking at each other in confusion while Mrs. Hudson who just recently woke up from her nap approached them, eager to share the joy which was now nonexistent.

“John… What was the last thing you remember?”

“I… I don’t know… Sometime around Rosie’s Christening?” Rosie was already hiding her face in the crook of her elbow, trying hard to not sob nor cry, while Sherlock was gently rubbing her back.

“John. This IS Rosie. The Christening had already happened years ago and… Mary died years ago, too,” John’s eyes widen in disbelief as he clenched his hand onto the bed sheet, trying to contain his anger, his… shock.

“How… did she die, Sherlock?” his voice was now shaking and somewhat stuck in his throat.

“She died with honour, John. She died protecting me,”

“WITH HONOUR? But she still died! So now I’m left a widower with a chil-”

“We’re just recently engaged,” he blurted out of panic. That had John looking at his fingers to see an unfamiliar ring that matched Sherlock’s.

“Sherlock, that’s…” of course Sherlock would expect words like ‘wonderful’ or ‘a dream come true’. But he was unlucky-not that he believed in luck, but surely he was breaking inside, even Rosie sensed his growing tension.

“You must be delusional, Sherlock. You-why would I marry __you__?” John chuckled as he took off the ring and put in beside him. If he could move a lot more, he would’ve put it on the bedside table, Sherlock was sure of it. John was now accusing Sherlock for playing a sick prank on his because he wasn’t at all convinced that he missed years of his life. Mrs. Hudson was now hugging Rosie, trying to calm her when she started crying after John clarified that he doesn’t believe that she was his Rosie. His Rosamund Mary. Sherlock felt heat coming up in his cheeks, whether it was because he felt like crying or screaming, he didn’t care anymore. He was holding onto the ring on his finger so tightly as if it’s the last bit of his dream that still existed in real life. With every stabbing words, his heart shattered little by little and eventually came out in the form of tears from his eyes. When the tears streamed down his face, Rosie released herself from Mrs. Hudson’s hug and stood in front of Sherlock with so much hate in her eyes.

“If it weren’t for you and your stupid work, daddy would have still remembered me! This is all __your__  fault!” his hand was now shaking from the overwhelming emotions he’s feeling. He couldn’t take it anymore. ‘ _ _Run. Flee from this place, Sherlock’.__ He stood up slowly, suddenly aware that his whole body ached when John finally spoke after a long pause.

“Sherlock. Leave, please? Before you ruin more of my life,” his tears wouldn’t stop falling. He needs to feel numb. As soon as possible. Numb was a good alternative for the pain he’s feeling then and there. He practically ran out of the room and aimlessly trudged around, trying to find a solution to all of these shenanigans. But he knew that would result in nothing, because memory loss that long were usually permanent. He couldn’t do anything, but to try and calm himself even if were illegally.

 

 

 ~~~

 

 

Rosie was so very clever, because she was raised with the help of the genius Sherlock Holmes, his supposed fiancee no-more. She knew how hurt Sherlock had felt upon receiving the anger from the two Watsons, because Sherlock doesn’t just break down in front of people if it were bearable. She had felt guilty, obviously, because Sherlock was in a way, his father too. Just yet to be official. So, she had tried to show John how much Sherlock had done for him and that both of them hadn’t treated him as they should. She had contacted her uncle Mycroft from John’s phone, asking for help in retrieving John’s lost memory, even if it’s just on video, or on text exchanges, anything. She knew that this should be fixed. But she was still a child, all she could do was hope that she did enough to at least slap some sense in her father. But in a matter of months, it did worked, even if just a bit, but it had made John realize that they did love each other, and that everything Sherlock said in the hospital was indeed true. But were they too late by then? Not even little Rosie was sure.

 

They had decided that visiting Sherlock in 221B after months of silence would be an appropriate approach. John had worn the engagement ring and brought along a bouquet of flowers as a small token of apology. Usually when he knocked, Sherlock would open the door for him, but that day, it was Mrs. Hudson, who had a shocked and sad expression on her usually vibrant face.

“You know Sherlock isn’t here anymore, or at least for a few months more. You’re wasting your breath, John,” she was about to close the door on his face when he managed to hold the door open with his feet.

“Where is he, Mrs. Hudson?”

“I shouldn’t say anything to __you__. Try asking Mycroft and see if he would tell you,” she closed the door and John was starting to grow concerned for Sherlock. They didn’t even leave the street when John dialed Mycroft’s number in his phone and tried to reach him. He eventually picked up after a few rings.

“Dr. Watson,”

“Mycroft, where is Sherlock? Why did Mrs. Hudson say that Sherlock isn’t gonna be in 221B for at least a few months more?”

“Try and __deduce__  his where about from the information you had already received. Stuck somewhere for a few months; a treatment facility. What kind of facility is it, when you consider the major event that had happened in this time period, Dr Watson?”

“Th-the hospital… Did he… Is he in rehabilitation center?”

“Very good, Dr Watson,”

“I need the address, Mycroft,” he was beginning to hyperventilate but managed to calm down meanwhile planning to drop Rosie at the usual babysitter. She doesn’t need any of the negative vibes the rehab give out at this young of an age.

“Fine. I’ll text you an address,”

“Thank you, Mycroft,” he thanked with a very audible sigh, as he ended the call.

 

After a long talk with Rosie, he had finally convinced her to go to the babysitter. Mainly because that he was going to a __rehab__  but he just wanted to deal with this alone. This was a very big issue and he have to fix it. He played a very big role into breaking Sherlock. His steps were unusually heavy, indeed, because he was carrying a heavy responsibility along with heavy guilt. He got to the entrance of the building when a woman in white came out to escort him inside. The facility was eerily quiet and full of sorrow. When he asked for Sherlock’s room number, the receptionist’s head instantly looked up and just nodded. She must have recognize him from the papers or something. After a few exchanged words with one of the staff, John was escorted through long corridors and reached a part of the building which was comparatively bigger in size and was clearly more filled with necessary items. She pointed to a direction and just left him to deal with whatever it was that’s waiting.

 

He pushed the door open slowly and the sight was very dull and kind of sad. Everything was… pale. White. White walls, white floor, white bed, white desk and tables. One of the only vibrant colour in that room was a blood-red apple on the table which seemed to be untouched for at least two days. The other was the dark, silky curls of Sherlock. He was lying on his back on the bed just… staring at the empty ceiling. He himself was as pale as the white clothes he was wearing. The short sleeved top had emphasized his now-thin figure and even his pants seemed baggy. He approached Sherlock slowly and when he was close enough he could see the continuous marks on the crook of his hands that had proved his recent drug abuse. He took the chair on the desk and brought it next to Sherlock’s bed and just sat down, studying his expression. He was empty. As if he was actually lifeless. He tried to reach out to take his hand but stopped midway, afraid if it would startle him.

“Sherlock?”

No answer. Not even a nod nor a hum. He glanced at Sherlock’s pale hand on his chest and realized one missing detail that had hit him so hard in the chest. He wasn’t wearing the ring. Glancing around, he noticed the shiny ring placed on top of a folded silk cloth on his bedside table. But it was partially covered by the cloth - as if contemplating whether or not to remember those memorable day of the proposal. Beside the ring was a faced-down picture frame. With much hesitation, John turned the frame over to see the glass of the frame was broken and had bits of dried blood on it - punched it, maybe - and the picture inside was torn apart but with whatever was left of the photo was enough for John to make out what picture it was. It’s a picture of all of them in 221B. A picture of Sherlock, John, Mary and Rosie. It was the only picture they had together, of course he would’ve recognized it. But now it was torn apart, missing a large piece of it and was bloodied, as if reflecting the condition of Sherlock’s heart.

 

One of the staff came over to check up on Sherlock, and to bring in some food for him. Upon seeing John inside the room, she spoke up loud enough for him to hear.

“He hadn’t been moving much nor talked for so long. Not even eating. Maybe just once for every 5-7 days in very small portions. I’m sorry but he just won’t do anything if he doesn’t want to,” she nodded at John after putting the food tray on the table and left immediately. With a sigh, he placed his hand on top of Sherlock’s which was very cold he had to check for a pulse just in case.

“Sherlock. Can you talk to me? Please?” And with that, Sherlock turned his head slowly and squinted at the sight of John.

“Oh, you’re a new one. The other apparition would just…mock away and blame me for everything,” he sighed and closed his eyes.

“Why is there a new apparition? I didn’t take any hallucinogenic drugs recently. You shouldn’t be here,” he turned his head slightly away from John, but he managed to cup his face before he completely looked away.

“Because I’m real, Sherlock. Please, just look at me and deduce. I’m real,” he kept Sherlock’s head fixed in a way that his eyes will look at him, and thankfully the blue eyes was moving frantically, deducing his existance. It didn’t take long before Sherlock had made a conclusion, in the form of tears.

“J-John? It’s… Why are you here? Why-” he began to mumble incoherently, obviously confused. After a few moments, he quieted down and began crying, hard, as if he had kept the tears welled up since the day of the incident. John stood up and slowly wrapped his arms around a very thin Sherlock, trying to calm him down. He didn’t know what to say at that moment, so he just hummed and shushed slowly, as if calming a child.

 

When his breathing became a lot more even, both of them calmed down greatly and Sherlock had seem to regain some life in him as well.

“I hate you so much,” Sherlock had said, but slightly muffled by John’s chest.

“I know,”

“But god, I can’t ever delete how much I still love you,” he sighed in resignation. As if he was very much tired of this world. John broke the hug and went to take the ring from the silk cloth bedding and knelt beside Sherlock, making him more confused than ever.

“But can you still accept this offer, and make it through the wedding? For us?” Sherlock, who was still sitting on the bed, grabbed John’s wrist, and said in a mix of jokingly and serious manner, “but I still hate you”. John just smiled at this.

“Yes. And I still love you,”


End file.
